


Choice and Chance

by ChaosAndCrumpets



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Department of Mysteries (Harry Potter), Explicit Language, F/M, Hogwarts Seventh Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosAndCrumpets/pseuds/ChaosAndCrumpets
Summary: An accident in the Department of Mysteries leaves Hermione Granger stranded in a world not quite her own, her only companion the unknowable Draco Malfoy. Together, they learn who they truly are by virtue of who they could have been.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 16
Kudos: 18





	Choice and Chance

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first foray into the world of fan-fiction as a writer, although I have and will continue to be a voracious consumer and kudos-leaver. Please be gentle with me, and let me know your thoughts so I don't feel like I'm screaming into the void.
> 
> I don't think I need to tell you that I don't own it, and won't profit from it.

Hermione Granger prided herself on her ability to follow instructions. When she had been told to meet Draco Malfoy on the first day of the Easter holidays at nine o’clock by the oddly graceful winged boars that flanked the gates to Hogwarts she was, unsurprisingly at her arranged post by quarter to nine, having risen earlier than usual to attempt to wrestle her curls into submission. She was loath to admit she had once again been unsuccessful in this regard, and the battle between Hermione and her apparently sentient hair was doomed to continue another day. 

Draco Malfoy it seemed could take no such pride in himself. As her watch crept towards the half hour mark Hermione’s agitation grew, and she felt the familiar prickle of irritation building at the base of her spine. It was typical of him, Hermione thought, to assume the world would wait for him. The two were the only students in their year studying the required NEWTs and with the requisite interest in pursuing a career in the Department of Mysteries, and had been invited to visit the department to submit their applications. And he was late.

Hermione had been thinking of this day as her first true step towards adulthood. If she was honest with herself, Hermione’s teenage experience had fallen somewhat short of the expectations she had formed as a child watching American rom-com films at her mother’s side. A realisation that was particularly stark when she considered that she went to a school where she learned actual magic.

With an exaggerated huff she settled herself at the base of the stone column, pulled out her transfiguration homework and lost herself in the soothing comfort of logic. She became so engrossed that she missed the quiet crunching of Draco’s well polished heels until they entered her line of sight some minutes later. Hermione was irritated to note that he looked extremely well put-together, pressed grey robes and artfully tousled hair making him look older than his 17 years. 

‘Sorry I’m late Granger,’ he smiled easily, a flash of white teeth in the early spring light ‘I, ah, overindulged slightly last night. You know how it is at the end of term.’

Hermione did not know. She had spent the evening surrounded by familiar texts in her room, composing a long list of questions she planned to ask during their appointment at the ministry that day.

‘Right,’ she sniffed noncommittally, even to her own ears sounding prudish and stern. 

He bent and held out his hand to her, palm up. She peered at it suspiciously for a moment before he exhaled a laugh and closed the distance, wrapping his long fingers around her wrist and pulling her quickly to her feet. She must have been more engrossed in her homework than usual, as she couldn’t seem to summon back her annoyance at his lateness when he picked up her bag from the ground and swung it over his shoulder with his own.

‘I can carry that,’ she told him.

‘I know you can Granger,’ he agreed, making no move to return her bag to her. She sighed dramatically and started towards the gates which had opened at their approach, a single horseless carriage waiting to take them to their destination. 

Hermione resolutely ignored his arm waiting to help her into the carriage, grasping instead the handle of the open door, her ire returning with a vengeance as she felt a firm push under her elbow and she climbed in.

Hermione turned in the small space inside the carriage, facing him as he pulled himself through the door. 

‘Hmm,’ she murmured, taking her left wrist in her right hand and flexing the fingers one by one.

‘Granger-’ Draco’s eyes were focused on her hands.

‘Hold on,’ she replied. ‘Just checking.' She brought the back of her hand quickly to his shoulder, thumping him sharply with her knuckles. ‘Full function in all limbs, as I thought.’ She began to flex the fingers of her right hand.

‘Granger-’ he warned.

‘As a capable witch I can assure you that walking and carrying my own bag are not outside of my capabilities, Malfoy. Particularly as you appear to be unable to adhere to something as simple as a schedule,’ she told him coolly.

‘Are you going to be like this all day?’ he asked, with narrowed eyes. ‘I’m sorry I was late. My manners are very much reflexive, so I’m afraid I can’t allow you to haul yourself into the carriage like a particularly graceless flobberworm. I also have a terrible headache so I would appreciate it if you could try to refrain from any screeching, lecturing, chastising or otherwise unpleasant or loud communications until I can take some pepper-up potion.’ He moved past her, settling into the middle of the seat.

‘Can’t allow-?’

‘Please, Granger. Let me eat this,’ his voice was softer now as he gestured to the napkin wrapped pumpkin pasty he’d pulled from inside his robes, ‘take my potion, and afterwards, if you still feel the need, you can punch me in the face again and we’ll call it even. Deal?’

She felt the beginnings of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth and fought to repress it, but nodded all the same and sat by the window opposite him. Whilst she resented him for the many privileges his life had afforded him she could not deny the widely understood appeal he held. He was intelligent (always first on Hermione’s list), charming, well-read, good-mannered, and now that they were in their seventh year, irritatingly pretty, although in more of an avenging angel sort of way, than the tall, dark and handsome love interests found in her muggle novels.

They were jostled in their seats as the wheels of the carriage left the ground, soaring into the air until the buildings of Hogsmeade were tiny imperfections in the otherwise flawless landscape. Hermione busied herself looking out of the window as he ate his breakfast, not a crumb falling into the napkin resting on his thigh, and downed his potion. She could feel her fingertips growing cold with her tight grip on the edge of her seat, never one to trust in anyone else’s magic but her own.

‘So, why the Department of Mysteries, Granger? Potter’s got money on you making a career out of that SPANK club you’re so fond of telling us about,’ His grin was wide, and Hermione felt her cheeks heat under his gaze. She wasn’t sure how to feel about Draco and his friends discussing her career prospects.

‘S.P.E.W. And I could ask you the same,’ she recovered ‘won’t you be living the leisurely life of the aristocracy? Dabbling in politics to change laws that inconvenience you and ensuring the riff raff don’t wriggle too far from under your heel?’ 

His laughter was like a bark, short, sharp and undeniably genuine. ‘You’re confusing me with my father. I happen to enjoy the riff raff.’

Hermione had no idea what that meant, so she settled for returning her gaze to the window, watching the purple of Scotland's heather change to the mossy greens of the north of England.

‘Are you going to answer my question?’ She found herself completely trapped between the liquid grey of his eyes and the smile beginning at the corner of his mouth.

She exhaled although her irritation with him was no longer genuine. Their interactions had been limited at Hogwarts, coming as they did from literal different worlds. Draco moved through the halls with effortless confidence of a boy for whom magic was a birthright, an assumption. Generations of magical blood clear in the sharp lines of his face and the graceful sweep of his wand arm. Hermione was sure that his life would be one of open doors and firm handshakes; no path would be closed to the Malfoy heir. Her own muggle birth had planted in her a constant need to prove that she belonged, that her magic was strong. Her affinity with books meant that most of her classmates tended to avoid her until their homework was due and she had never quite found true friendship among her peers; her arm too quick to rise, her voice too shrill, her interests too high minded.

Their days at Hogwarts had been punctuated only by the usual minor dramas of young love, petty disagreements, the occasional jelly-legs cast in the chaos between classes. Despite discovering magic at the age of 11, Hermione's 6 and a half years at Hogwarts had been almost pedestrian, focused as she was on the possible career path that was now within her grasp.

‘Well,’ she caught his eye smiling sadly ‘everyone knows all about my irrepressible thirst for knowledge. I don’t know why it would be a surprise to anyone that I’d want to work in the department of mysteries.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ he agreed easily.

‘What about you?’

‘You probably won’t believe me, but I actually want to achieve something notable with my life,’ he watched her carefully. ‘I don’t particularly want to resign myself to a life of good wine, polite conversation and women dripping in jewels.’ His grin was back, but she recognised a note of determination in his voice. 

‘Imagine, how awful,’ She smiled back, surprised at how easy she found his conversation. ‘I was shocked another student had been offered the opportunity to apply.’ 

He watched her thoughtfully ‘I am top of my class you know.’ he commented casually, gaze focused on the rolling clouds.

Hermione sputtered ‘You are not. I think you’ll find I’m top of our class.’

‘Please Granger. Your top in Transfiguration and History of Magic. I’m top in Potions, Charms-’

‘I’m top in Muggle Studies, Arithmancy.’

‘That hardly counts,’ his eyes were warm, like he was teasing her

She froze ‘Why? Because Muggles don’t count?’

‘No,’ he said evenly, ‘because you taking Muggle Studies, is like an owl taking flying lessons.’

She settled at that. ‘I’m top in Herbology.’

‘You’re not Granger. Longbottom is. Don’t take that away from him. I’ll concede to joint top.’

She snorted, but decided she would make do with knowing the truth herself. ‘Fine.’

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, watching the landscape change beneath them as they headed south to flatter and more densely populated areas. The carriage was moving far quicker than the train which would now be snaking through the countryside somewhere below them, delivering students home for the Easter break.

‘Which room are you looking forward to the most?’ She asked eventually.

‘I bet I can guess yours,’ he mused. ‘Thought?’

‘Naturally. Time for you?’

‘How did you know?’

She pointed at him ‘Slytherin. Always ambitious.’ Draco was laughing, his legs spread wide in the seat across from her, unconcerned by the casual grazing of his knee against hers, caused by the slow extension of his long legs in the space between them. As her gaze rested a moment too long between his legs she heard his laughter die and looked up to find him looking her, one eyebrow raised in a way that was so characteristically him she couldn't help the choked laughter that left her as her face heated up again.

He cleared his throat ‘I think we’re nearly there.’

London’s skyscrapers were visible now through the window, approaching alarmingly fast through the ever-present drizzle of the English climate. 

‘Wait,’ her eyes widened in alarm ‘we’re not going to land on the-.’ She was cut off as the carriage wheels met the ground with a force they were surely not made to withstand. Where Draco had the presence of mind to grab onto the looped hand holds draped from the ceiling, Hermione had been thrown from her seat in a cartwheel of limbs landing rather predictably, she thought, on the floor in the space between Draco’s thighs, her hands instinctively coming up to grip them as she tried to right herself.

He made no attempt to help her, the fingers of one hand still grasping the loop above his head casually, eyes dark and fixed on her face despite the now stillness of the carriage. Her breathing caught as it suddenly became very difficult for her to inhale oxygen. 

‘Well,’ he mused, eyes alight ‘I never thought I’d see the day Hermione Granger would fall to her knees for me.’

She scrambled up, holding her face as far away from his crotch as possible and battling valiantly to keep her eyes on his face. She was utterly mortified, thrown by her fall, embarrassed by where she had landed and confused by the thread of a more pleasant emotion she was unwilling to put a name to, weaving between the other, more prickly feelings.

Tearing his eyes from her he stood sharply and exited, the charged atmosphere crumbling with the swish of his robes. He opened the door and for the third time that morning offered his hand to her, a challenge in his gaze. 

She rolled her eyes and took it, leaning on him as she stepped onto the roof of the Ministry of Magic and marched ahead, determined to regain her focus on this day which was so important for her future career goals. 

\--

They were met at rooftop by an unremarkable ministry employee who took their hands limply in his damp grip, handed them both an ID card and ushered them into the lifts. The silence was tangible as they descended, a tension Hermione was at a loss to explain. 

They were escorted and left at a small reception, where an equally unremarkable receptionist weighed their wands and issued them their visitors passes. Hermione wondered vaguely if Draco would be allowed to take up a role in the Department of Mysteries; standing out as he did so garishly among the low light and plain faces. 

The representative who collected them introduced herself as Wilhelmina Brewer. She had short black hair and a no-nonsense attitude. 

‘My main focus is the Time room, but we all have a basic understanding of most of the areas of research’. She explained, outlining their agenda for the day and handing them a blank parchment, which glowed faintly in the low light. ‘Your entry into the department constitutes a binding magical contract; you won’t be able to discuss anything you see here today with anyone apart from each other’. 

Draco and Hermione shared a look at this, and Hermione felt inexplicably that the loose thread connecting them, which had always been so long and fine, was strengthening and retracting, pulling them closer together with each step forward. With a nod, the two of them squared their shoulders, placed their quills to the paper and followed Brewer through the first door.

Stopping as she closed the door behind them, Brewer assessed them through narrowed eyes 

‘This should go without saying, but please, do not touch anything. Anything at all. Am I clear?’ she asked sharply. They nodded seriously, and followed her into the first unmarked room.

\--

They visited areas dedicated to Love, Space, and Death, and were allowed to wander the Hall of Prophecy; Brewer obviously thought this space was sufficiently low risk that they could wander the shelves alone.  
Draco, who did not share Hermione’s casual disregard for the more intangible magics, was fascinated by the infinite maze of glowing orbs searching for his own name among the rows of things that could be.

Hermione was surprised at how quickly they had fallen into a tentative companionship. They rarely interacted at Hogwarts, Draco preferring the company of his pure-blood fan club and the scruffy idiot Harry Potter.

‘Do you really want to know? If there is a prophecy about you?’ Hermione asked, recognising the manic gleam in his eye as the same need that led her to illicit early morning library trips, when her sleep had been interrupted by a burning query.

‘Of course I do. I want to at least feel like I have a choice.’ He didn’t tear his eyes from his search of the shelves.

‘But your actions could change the outcome, make the prophecy happen when it otherwise wouldn't have.’

‘I know that Granger,’ the teasing smile on his lips again. ‘I’d just rather feel like I have agency. Even if I don’t, not really.’

‘So you think your choices are pre-determined? That you have no control over what you do or say?’. Her voice had risen slightly. She had thought Draco to be a stoic servant of logic, like herself and couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed in him.

‘Some things are inevitable,’ he said firmly. 

‘Like what?’ She rolled her eyes now, and he laughed softly when he caught her.

‘Like the rooms we’ve visited today, Love, Death-.’

‘That’s very abstract Draco. Don’t tell me you believe in soul mates?’

His brow furrowed in confusion. ‘Of course Granger. Love is the oldest magic there is.’ She searched his face for a hint of deception, but found none.

‘I must say I’m shocked. Wait until Lavender Brown hears about what a romantic you are. She’s already besotted.’

‘I know,’ he groaned, pushing his hair back from his brow. ‘She asked for a photograph with me at the Yule Ball you know. Pansy was livid.’

Hermione laughed, ‘Ah yes. She has it on her wall.’

His eyes widened comically. ‘Lucky then, that you’ll be the only one who knows about how romantic I am.’

\--

Dracos excitement was almost tangible as Brewer led them into the Time room after lunch. His breathing had turned shallower, his spine straighter and his gaze sharper. The room itself was in almost total darkness, the only light coming from a weave of multi-coloured threads glowing alluringly towards the end of the room.

They were confronted by an enormous hourglass,towering so high above them they were unable to see the top of it. The frame was made from smooth but unadorned wood, and Hermione was alarmed to see that the sand in the bottom half of the hour glass was almost completely full, indicating there weren’t many grains left to fall.

‘It’s almost empty,’ She said, watching the steady flow of sand land smoothly into the hourglass.

‘Yes and no,’ replied Brewer. ‘In comparison to what has gone before, there is still a lot of time left.’

Draco nodded seriously. ‘It’s the nature of time; perpetually running out.’ 

Hermione scoffed ‘I disagree. Time is infinite. It might run out for a person, a planet, a whole universe, but time itself always carries on.’

‘It can’t be infinite, Granger, if-’

Brewer interrupted, looking thoughtfully at them ‘You’re both right,’ she agreed.

Hermione made her way further into the room, where ribbons of multi-coloured light seemed to continue endlessly into the blackness that replaced the back wall of the room. The threads were infinite, as thin as silk, no two colours quite the same. Some were interwoven, creating elaborate knots and plaits, whilst some were resolutely singular, shining brightly against the darkness. It became clear that they all originated from a small spinning wheel sitting unassumingly in front of the beautiful patchwork; Hermione had barely noticed it, distracted as she was by the explosion of colour and texture in front of her.

Behind her, she could hear Draco in animated discussion with Brewer, worlds like ‘continuum’ and ‘relativity’ floating towards her, although she felt detached from them. As she studied the threads, she was alarmed to find she had drifted closer, a single string of dark red only an inch from her nose. She could see tiny rivulets of, a pearly liquid running along the thread, and Hermione had to battle the compulsion to reach out and graze one with the pad of her finger. 

She jerked as she felt Draco grasp her shoulder, head snapping quickly towards him, as though woken abruptly from a dream. ‘All right Granger?’.

The sharp focus with which her attention had been held by the red string slipped, the quiet of the room echoing strangely around her. She was hyper aware of Draco’s hand on her shoulder through her shirt, bringing her back to the moment with it’s warm weight.

‘Yes, sorry. It’s beautiful.’ He was looking at her strangely, as though he thought she might faint, or cry.

‘Yes. Unspeakable Brewer-’ he turned his head and stopped abruptly when he found no sign of their guide where he had left her by the hourglass. He left her to walk a circuit of the room, frowning as he returned. ‘She’s gone.’ Hermione thought he hadn’t needed to say that out loud so didn’t deign to respond. ‘Where has she gone?’.

‘I don’t know Draco, maybe she got a memo.’ Hermione felt utterly unable to dredge up the same level of concern for the mystery of Brewer’s whereabouts and idly wondered if she was going to faint as blackness pooled her vision.

Draco bent his neck to look into her eyes, his fingers grasping the back of her neck to tip her head back. ‘Did you touch it?’ His voice was gentle, a whisper of words across her cheek.

‘Of course not.’ He must have read something in her wide eyes, as he nodded and removed his hand from her neck.

‘Let’s go and find her then, I suppose.’

Hermione nodded, almost unsurprised when Draco collected her rucksack from the floor and held open the door for her. Her legs felt distinctly unsteady and she took some deep breaths before crossing the threshold into the dim corridor outside. 

‘You’re not well,’ Draco commented. It wasn’t a question.

‘I don’t know. I feel very tired.’ Hermione’s head swam as she admitted to herself that he was probably right, but pressed on regardless

‘Tired?’ he repeated, noting the absence of colour in her cheeks. ‘Can you walk?’

‘Of course I can walk.’

He shifted the two bags on to his shoulder, and held out his arm for her, like a medieval gentleman about to take a turn about the gardens. 

‘Take my arm.’ 

‘I’m fine.’

‘Granger.’

Hermione attempted the usual flounce she reserved for ending conversations that displeased her, but it was lacking its usual impact, given her feet seemed not to want to pick themselves up off the ground. She felt pleasantly comforted when Draco slipped his arm around her, his fingers resting on her ribs. 

‘Fine,’ she tried to grumble but sounded strangely breathy even to her own ears.

They made their way slowly down the dark corridor, discomfort increasing as they passed the empty reception desk, the lurching of their shadows the only movement in the low light. The silence was heavy and oppressive, a contrast to the quiet buzz of activity on their arrival earlier that morning.

Draco steered them towards the round counter, and helped Hermione settle on top of it. He bent towards her, concern clear in his grey eyes, lifting her face with just his index finger under her chin.

‘Granger, your pupils are enormous.’ Hermione closed her eyes, focusing on the cool marble of the desk beneath her thighs as she counted and held her breaths. He swung his bag from his shoulder, pulled out a small vial and pressed it into her hand. ‘Pepper-up potion. Drink it. I’m going to try and find someone.’

As she heard Draco’s footsteps disappear, Hermione uncapped the potion and tipped it to her lips. Absently, she was aware she should probably be concerned about the mystery illness which seemed to be plaguing her, shortly after a hypnotic experience with the spindle in the Time room, but found herself focused instead on the weight of exhaustion pulling at her eyelids.

Draco returned, walking briskly, with irritation creasing his brow and approached her at the desk. 

‘Any better?’ he asked softly.

‘A bit.’ she nodded, the fog which had settled in her mind lifting slightly. But when she raised her head to meet his eyes she found his gaze fixed firmly over her shoulder. ‘What?’ She turned as he made his way towards the notice board behind her, the sound of tearing paper crisp in the silence. 

As he stepped back into her line of sight, he held two sheets of paper in his hands. Staring grimly at both, he handed her the first. She blinked to focus on the the bespectacled gaze of Harry Potter which was fixed on her, beneath the ominous headline, in large bold print. 

_Undesirable No. 1 ___

____

‘Harry Potter?’ Hermione queried ‘He’s not a criminal Draco,’ She considered for a moment ‘Is he?’

____

Draco managed a laugh although there was no joy in it. ‘Please. The worst thing Harry ever did was ask Cho Chang on a date.’

____

‘’Well there was that time that he-’

____

‘Focus Granger!.’ he interrupted and handed her the second page. ‘He’s as dangerous as a puffskein. This is our real concern at the moment.’ He was eyeing her warily.

____

Slowly she turned the page, holding it in front of her chest. Hermione felt bile rise in her windpipe as she met her own gaze, a fire behind her eyes Hermione had never seen in her own reflection, the large lettering above condemning her as:

____

_Undesirable No. 2. ___

____

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading. I would appreciate any comments and constructive criticism. I am hoping to update every week, with around 15 chapters outlined and a decent amount already written.


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